Come Home
by Tribble Master
Summary: Smooth face, unmarred by scars. A face that didn’t belong here. Hazel eyes that sparkled. And the face was whispering: “Come home." Escape Hell One Shot!


**Written for LivingForTV who wanted my take on Dean's escape. She all so beta'd for me. Hope you enjoy!**

**Warning:** It's hell people. Intense violence, and gore._In short: Iky-ness._

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural, and I apologize profusely for the amount of hurt in this piece.

**Come Home**

Smooth face, unmarred by scars. A face that didn't belong here. Hazel eyes that sparkled with emotions he hadn't seen in awhile. And the face was whispering: "Come home."

Dean woke with a start. He didn't recognize his dreams anymore. Didn't want to, anyway. He was in Hell, and this was home now. He didn't need to remember anything from before; and he certainly didn't need to remember _that_ face.

He stood up, gingerly in his dirt room. His frail frame shaking slightly as he walked. Even having been off the rack for ten years, he was still scarred and broken. Alistair was banging on the door, announcing his presence before he flung the door open. Dean didn't need to say anything he just lowered his eyes and hobbled over to where the demon stood.

Alistair smiled and handed him a knife. Like a father would to his son, Alistair proudly pronounced, "This is my real favorite knife, Dean boy," Alistair pointed at the sharp tool, "this hook, if you recall, was the real convincer. See the curvature? It twists quite nicely."

Dean nodded, accepting the information, planning all the different places he could use it for maximum discomfort. Behind the knee, Dean remembered, that hurt the most. That's what really made him stop fighting, after this blade had torn through so much muscle.

He twirled the blade in his hands. Alistair smacked a hand on Dean's shoulder. "And today, my protégée, you get to work without me looming over your shoulder."

Dean gave a crooked sinister grin, the only kind you ever saw in hell. It would be a good day.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean walked into the pit, exuding confidence. He'd worked intimidation down to an art Alistair could be proud of. Most people on the rack where terrified before he even brought down the first slice. He pulled out his tools, neatly andDean eyed today's victim-A tan brunette with blue eyes. He wasn't staring at the weapons like the others that quivered in fearful anticipation. No, he seemed to be looking straight at Dean. Judging him.

Even with hooks in his shoulders hoisting him up, the man seemed to carry an aura of serenity.

"Welcome to your worst nightmare," Dean smiled,picking up the curved blade. "Do you know why you're here?"

(Because I'm a pedophile)

(Because I killed people)

(I don't deserve this…)

Dean had heard everything in the past ten years. Until he heard the steady voice answer softly-

"For you, Dean Winchester."

Dean looked up and blinked his green eyes. _Winchester. _That word brought memories, things he didn't want to remember. "Don't lay your guilt on me," he walked over to the brunette.

"You'll see the error of your ways," Dean said threateningly, sinking the blade into his hip. "What's your name?"

Dean smirked to see some of the victim's calm slipping. The man grunted in pain, and gasped out, "Castiel."

Dean shoved the knife a little further, pleased when he saw a sticky flow of blood ooze out. "Now… Cas. Why are you here?"

Between ragged breaths Castiel said again, "To save you, Dean Winchester."

Dean did not like the direction this was going. He twisted the knife, irritably.

Castiel gagged, "Do you remember what if feels like to be home?"

Hazel eyes with kindness. Weathered face. _Home_, was intertwined with that face he couldn't quite recall. He looked away and refused to admit it.

In all his years, Dean had learned to control his rage- using it as a weapon. To draw out pain slowly in creative blows. But the words this man spoke, making him think of the forty year journey from pain to the redemption Alistair gave him- he ripped out the blade savagely. "We're not here to talk about me," he hissed, cutting away from his rebelling memories.

Castiel gave a dry chuckle as blood trickled out between his lips. "Cut me free, Dean Winchester, and we can talk."

Dean smiled. "We can still talk just fine." Just when he thought he was losing control, he'd heard that before. He added vehemently, "and I'll still cut you open."

Dean brought the knife down, slicing open where one hook was embedded in his shoulder. It dangled free, and Castiel sagged slightly. "Dean," he said in between clenched teeth, "I'm not just another soul on the rack. Let me show you."

Dean glared as Castiel said softly, "Stand back."

Dean had not suffered a life time of orders and pain just to be bossed around by this nobody. But he took a step back just in case. The man grunted, as he exerted all of his strength. From his back erupted twin bumps that grew into large feather wings in the span of just minutes.

Dean gasped at the sight of the black feathers that stretched out, snapping the chains where they brushed against metal. The stark contrast of beauty against the muddy prison left him momentarily speechless. Castiel lowered himself and pulled the hooks out of his skin. "Dean Winchester. Do you believe me now?"

"I- Well-Why didn't you escape before?" Dean stammered, his anger melting away.

"Because I came here for you Dean Winchester."

Dean dropped his knife. "No, no way, I belong here. I don't want to face…"

"Dean," Castiel gently set a hand upon his shoulder, "It's time to go home."

Outside there was a clamor, noises and screeches not normal to hell. Dean looked over his shoulder to see Alistair burst through the door. "God damn Angels! Dean we need-" Alistair stopped shouting when he saw Castiel. "Oh no, oh no, don't you touch him! We had him first you—"

Castiel smiled softly and pressed his hand into Dean's shoulder.

Fire came first. The burning pain that exploded in every nerve ending that left him screaming. Ice, shortly after like a chill, the eerie calm in the eye of a storm that froze his heart.

Across the river Styx he floated in between dreams and death, those hazel eyes were blurring into his vision, mixing with blue, "You're home."

Dean gasped, and with a start woke up.

_~The End~_


End file.
